<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>typhoon war chronicles by mochacreams</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450706">typhoon war chronicles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochacreams/pseuds/mochacreams'>mochacreams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>for jupiter, with love (♃) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metal Gear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Established Relationship, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, References to Canon, Romantic Fluff, Smoking, Thunderstorms, only angsty if you squint, please excuse my gratuitous anime references as i was legally obligated to put in at least 2, pre-mgs2, unspoken but definitely established</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:34:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450706</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochacreams/pseuds/mochacreams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>snake doing laundry, a broken dryer, and a night of severe thunderstorms. what could go wrong?</p><p>[MGS2, pre-tanker]</p><p>-</p><p>now with <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/de0e44c1445d7390bd2f454837a4217d/6ebe52c10f174f11-12/s1280x1920/e4f5b13d9ea6d297105441cbf96290d70750b169.png">art</a> by amelia!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Otacon/Solid Snake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>for jupiter, with love (♃) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>typhoon war chronicles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the thing about metal gear is that u never really forget it. and the thing about quarantine is that you have nothing to do.</p><p>so obviously i've been replaying all of the games. and making myself sad. this is (fairly?) happy though because my heart wouldn't be able to take all of that at once.</p><p>title may or may not be named after a certain manga chapter that inspired this.</p><p>now, please accept my humble offering of snots.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That was that—no matter how many times Snake clicked the ‘start’ button, the dryer wouldn’t begin its cycle. </p><p>All things considered, the washing and drying machines were probably the most up-to-date amenities occupying the tiny space that was Snake and Otacon’s current apartment. Not like that was saying much, anyway. The rectangular dining table barely had room for two; the kitchenette was far too squashed and close to the front door for proper cooking (not like either of them would be doing any of that); the couch and television were equally as ratty, and the bedroom had little space for anything besides the old queen-sized mattress. </p><p>Compared to everything else, the clunky design of the washer and dryer seemed like a luxury—really, the two of them had been shocked to even <i>have</i> a laundry closet in a beat-up place like this. It almost seemed <i>too</i> convenient. They were only a fraction better than the ones you’d find in a college dorm hall’s laundry room, but it sure beat paying for the coin laundromat a few blocks down.</p><p>Only, that’s probably where Snake would be heading over to soon (and that strong possibility seeping into the back of his head irritated him like nothing else).</p><p>The load of wet clothes had just come out of the wash, stuffed into the tiny dryer by Snake a mere few seconds after the timer went off. Whether he was quick out of utter boredom or simply because of the years of military training drilled into his brain, he couldn’t say for sure. Otacon would chalk it up to a soldier’s subconscious need for efficiency—and probably make a sarcastic comment about the way he practically pounced toward the machine, too—<i>if</i> he were here to watch him do it.</p><p>As it was, though, he was currently at the convenience store down the street, right on the corner by the traffic light that always had a busted left turn arrow. A ten minute walk down the city block at least. He had his reservations about letting him go alone (always paranoid about an attack), but there seriously wasn’t even enough food left for tonight’s dinner—and he’d started getting antsy since he’d smoked his last cigarette at lunch.</p><p>Snake didn’t like doing laundry. Living alone in Alaska for so long meant he went days wearing different combinations of the same five pieces of clothing. Laundry was an afterthought that he would only remember to do after several weeks. Given Otacon’s shut-in tendencies, Snake suspected the same was true for him, and living together had only solidified that theory. </p><p>Since they’d started staying at this flat, though, it’d become less of a chore and more of a ‘whoever smells it first does the washing’. And as it were, Snake had noticed the pile starting to stink as he was channel surfing, playing idly with the stitches on the repaired patches of the sofa. </p><p>But giving in and doing this chore was a lot better than getting scolded by Otacon for buying the wrong flavor of instant ramen (if you asked him, they all tasted the same). Best to let him pick out his specifics and just grab beer and cigs for Snake.</p><p>He’d left ten minutes ago; ten minutes before the washer had let out its resounding ding, and Snake dearly wished he’d left ten minutes <i>after instead. </i></p><p>This pair of machines had too many functions for Snake’s liking, he’d decided. An array of various buttons were laid into the side of a vertical panel, right behind where the opening hole was on top of the dryer. The settings were all too confusing—too many of them. It was a dryer, so it should be simple. Keyword ‘should.’ </p><p>It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to use a washing or drying machine. Definitely not. This one just has too many dials and is needlessly complicated. He’d only gotten the washer to start up properly because he hadn’t messed with any of the settings, just hit the button and hoped for the best. </p><p>He’d assumed that would work with the dryer too, had it not been so stubborn. </p><p>But he could be stubborn, too. </p><p>Clicking ‘start’ again (more aggressively this time) still didn’t prompt the damn thing to turn on. The space behind it was too cramped to check, but they’ve used the dryer before so he <i>assumes</i> it’s plugged in just fine. If the socket had blown a fuse the washer wouldn’t have worked. </p><p>Still...he reluctantly went and adjusted some dials, messed around with some of the wash settings that were just labelled with ambiguous icons he couldn’t decipher.</p><p>And he pressed the green button again. </p><p>The dryer gave out a shutter, then a crescendo of mechanical roars (<s>not unlike the primal cries of REX</s>) before it began making a splurting sound. Like a car that just wouldn’t start, even after twisting the key in the ignition a million times. It sounded tired and old, ready to collapse at any moment. And it probably would. </p><p>Snake banged his fist on the top of the lid a few times for good measure, making the metal creak and vibrate. Again, he clicked the button. </p><p>There was more of that sputtering noise, and he half expected it to spew oil or smoke or something outlandish like that. But instead, the churning and shaking died down into a poignant silence. </p><p>He hit the top again, more irritated; this time it was with his palm-side down. </p><p>Nothing. </p><p>He’d really done it now. </p><p>If Otacon had just left <i>ten minutes</i> later— </p><p>There wasn’t any doubt in his head that Otacon could repair the thing. Hell, just a few days ago he’d tinkered with the dusty old AC unit in the bedroom and gotten it to start up (an appreciated fix during these humid Summer nights where they’d be sweaty and tangled together in bed, the sheets clinging to their bodies). He’s engineered more complex things than a drying machine. </p><p>But damn— Otacon was <i>not</i> here at present. He had to keep reminding himself that, because it was so contrary to the norm. </p><p>He couldn’t just leave the clothes in there, the gross, soggy mess that they were in their current state. And he especially couldn’t leave this fiasco for Otacon to walk in on. </p><p>There was a clothesline on the cramped balcony (that they both couldn’t be on comfortably at the same time) to the back of the apartment, except there was a downpour at the moment so he couldn’t even hang-dry. There would’ve been a good amount of sun this time of the early evening, if not for the fat, gray clouds in the sky. </p><p>It was almost like the storm was getting louder the longer he ruminated. </p><p>Finally deciding it couldn’t be helped, Snake lifted himself from his crouching position and stood up—</p><p>—Only to hit his head on the metal shelf that hung above the washer-dryer unit. </p><p>Something like a loud, mumbled <i>”Shit”</i> mixed with a slurred growl let loose from his lips as his palm cupped the back of his head. A bruise would probably form there later. </p><p>There was a lot of grumbling, and occasional strings of curses, as Snake reached in to dump the load out. The fabric dripped little water droplets onto the metal lid; that was a mess for later, though, when laundry was dry and the storm had passed. A white, plastic trash-bag was grabbed off the shelf above, and all the clothes were dumped inside. </p><p>He hastily slid the folding doors to the closet shut, using more force than strictly necessary. Out of sight, out of mind. </p><p>For now. </p><p>Currently, he had on a cheesy ‘I &lt;3 NYC’ shirt that Otacon had bought him as a joke, at a gift shop when they’d first arrived in the city. It was his last clean shirt, because it was a long-standing gag that he’d adamantly refuse to wear it—even as pajamas. </p><p>Snake grabbed his black sweatshirt off the chair in the kitchen and zipped it up a little more than halfway—no one had to see him wearing it. </p><p>He’d made it to the front door, garbage bag slung over his shoulder, when he stopped. </p><p>He should really write a note. That’d be the proper thing to do. It’d be no good if Otacon came back to an empty apartment and started worrying. </p><p>There was a drawer in the kitchen with pens, rubber-bands, markers—folded Swiss army knives—and sticky notes. They had the standard neon yellow ones, and Snake grabbed the stack in a hurry. </p><p>With a sharpie, he simply wrote: <i>at the laundromat</i> and nothing more than that. He wasn’t expecting him to come after him, but the least he could do was tell him where he went. </p><p>He took one more cursory glance toward the laundry closet as he passed before heading out the door, and tacking the post-it note to the front, right underneath the peephole. </p><p>And then Snake set out toward the stairs.</p>
<hr/><p>The dingy laundromat was completely vacant, except for a few cockroaches littering the floor and some moths buzzing near the neon ‘open’ sign. </p><p>Of course no one else would dare come here on a night like this. No customers were inside, and there were hardly any people milling around outside either, despite it only being around 6.</p><p>Thunderstorms did that sort of thing. The winds were extremely heavy, whipping the rain around—but the lightning and thunder hadn’t started up yet—so it was no wonder people would rather take shelter. There were supposed to be torrential downpours like this for the next couple days at the very least. </p><p>The severity rivaled that of the many Alaskan blizzards he’d lived through to tell the tale. </p><p>...Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he’d never seen <i>rain</i> this rough.</p><p>Snake had hurried over down the two or so blocks to get here with only his sweatshirt’s hood shielding him from the rain (which didn’t do a good job). His clothes were mostly soaked, but his half-jog pace with the bag over his shoulder meant he wasn’t as wet as he might’ve been otherwise. </p><p>It was a self-service, 24/7 place, with only rusted security cameras monitoring the perimeter. Never any workers in a place like this. The dryers were stacked on either far wall, with a divider in the middle of the place that held the washers. There were long, backless wooden benches that faced each wall of dryers. </p><p>It smelled like spoiled meat. </p><p>But he’d gotten used to places like these, hopping from state-to-state for so long, and with hardly any money for anything fancy. Just enough cash to scrape by. </p><p>Snake shrugged his hood off, relieved by the fact that there were no other customers. He’d even cast a quick glance to the other aisle just to make sure. Nice and quiet. </p><p>While the emptiness was just a tad bit depressing, being alone was also a comfort. Having strangers be in here would’ve put him on edge. It was like wandering around during an infiltration; the same feeling of calm was present here, too.  </p><p>The only real problem now was him craving a good smoke. </p><p>Pushing that urge aside— Snake had picked out a lower dryer, near the back but not completely. It was a yellow-white color, and was a far older model than the one in the apartment, but that only meant it’d be less likely to fuck up. </p><p>He swung the bag back down over his shoulder, and it plopped onto the floor with a blunt thud. Soon enough, he was crouched next to it, the glass door of the dryer popped open. </p><p>Whether it was cleaning the laundry or sorting it, Snake had the worst habit of inspecting each one—more specifically, inspecting each piece of <i>Otacon’s</i> clothing. By now, he knew his t-shirts by heart, knew which pants were his, but...he was always unnecessarily delicate and careful with how he tossed them into the wash. </p><p>He was always lingering. </p><p>The first item was his own flannel pajama pants. The stripes were a dark red and black, and the bottom leg cuffs flared out. He tossed it inside. </p><p>Then there was one of Otacon’s shirts—with a giant, white and blue robot on the front. It was flying through space, and had a golden ‘V’ on its head. </p><p>Next, his own black tank-top. </p><p>His pair of grey briefs. </p><p>Otacon’s white, hoodied sweatshirt. </p><p>His plain, black t-shirt that hugged his biceps nicely. </p><p>Otacon’s black sweatpants. </p><p>Next: A white shirt of Otacon’s, depicting a black robot with a crown and orange markings, and a girl in pink spandex standing with her arms crossed. A little smirk couldn’t help but appear when he noticed she was wearing a blue headband similar to his own, tied underneath her short, brown hair. There was some Japanese text on it that he couldn’t read. </p><p>After that was Snake’s pair of black boxers. Thrown inside. </p><p>His jeans. </p><p>Otacon’s jeans. </p><p>The last few things were his own sweatpants and jeans, and one of his well-worn wifebeaters he used as pajamas. </p><p>As he stood up, slapping the door shut, he took a brief glance outside—where the rain was coming down harder that before, the visibility even lower. </p><p>Snake shook his head as he turned back to the dryer. The heat was set on high, and the dial was set for for a heavy load. All he needed to do now was push his quarters in, click start, and wait. </p><p>So he reached into his sweatpants’ pockets (of which, there were only two in the front). Nothing in the left, nothing in the right... Ah, he must’ve slipped his wallet into his big hoodie pocket. </p><p>...But it was empty.</p><p><i>Damn</i>. No wallet. No spare change in his pockets. Not even some forgotten dollar bills he could cash in at the coin machine in the corner. </p><p>Without thinking, Snake shoved the creaky glass door open, immediately getting pelted by warm water droplets. It was hot, sticky rain this time of year—not refreshing at all. </p><p>Even through the blackness of the sky and low-hanging fog, their apartment complex was visible from here. It pierced the skyline above some shorter storefronts and abandoned office spaces. </p><p>If he really rushed, he could get back in five minutes’ time—</p><p>“—Hey, <i>Snake</i>!”</p><p>He turned his head. </p><p>...And approaching from down the sidewalk was Otacon of course, umbrella flipped inside out from the high winds. It looked as if he’d fly off the ground at any moment. </p><p>As he got closer, Snake could make out more of his details through the rain. </p><p>He looked...tired. Skin paler than normal. Almost like the living dead. The bags underneath his eyes were not as dark as he’d expected, but still fairly pronounced. There was stubble on his chin from not shaving in a while (<s>reminiscent of how he’d looked after months of being held hostage on Shadow Moses</s>).  </p><p>When was the last time he’d gotten a good look at him? Last week?</p><p>But Otacon was still beaming up at him anyway, like he wasn’t exhausted and hadn’t just speed-walked through a raging thunderstorm to get here. </p><p>Snake held the door open and Otacon hurriedly fumbled inside, shaking the water off his deformed umbrella. He leaned it against the window nearest to the door. </p><p>“You came, huh?” Snake was stepping inside behind him. </p><p>“Well, obviously. I saw the note.” </p><p>“<i>Obviously</i>.” There was an acute beat of silence as he smirked. Then his lips faded to a straight line. “But you should’ve stayed at home.”</p><p><i>Home</i>. Everywhere felt like home with Otacon. </p><p>“Huh? But you know, it’s pouring pretty badly, and I had the only umbrella with me, so...”</p><p>“Little water won’t kill me.”</p><p>“Well, yes, but— Ah, I’d rather be here with you than in that apartment alone when the power goes out.”</p><p>“‘When’?”</p><p>“Yeah. Forecast called for the worst rain here in <i>months</i>. Considering where we’re staying and all, I think the worst case scenario is plausible. They probably don’t even have backup generators there, so if I’d started working again there’d just be a blackout anyway and...”</p><p>...It wasn’t that Snake was zoning out, it was just—hard to not be enamored with everything about Otacon. Listening to him speak was pleasant enough, but Snake kept giving him sideways glances, taking in everything about him <i>physically</i> as well. </p><p>The way that his chest—a chest much scrawnier than his own—moved up and down rhythmically, pausing for some long moments as he spoke without hitching a breath. </p><p>The gentle wetness of his hair, tamed from its usual wild curls by the wetness of the rain. Now only the hair near his face slicked down, parts of his bangs clinging to his forehead. The lower half remained dry and mostly untouched, frizzing out from August’s humidity.  </p><p>The shirt underneath his grey, unzipped windbreaker that was printed with a graphic of something that must’ve been from those Japanese cartoons (what were they called again...<i>anime</i>?) he watched all the time. It was white and had ‘NERV’ on it in red font, along with a little leaf logo. Not like he had any idea what that meant. </p><p>Somehow, even all that nerdy shit was endearing right now. It was strange how being so close to someone could turn things so mundane into something you couldn’t stop thinking of. </p><p>All of these observations had happened within the span of mere seconds—in accordance with his training—and now Otacon’s nervous tangent was tapering off. </p><p>“...and I really, <i>really</i> wouldn’t be so rash as to risk that kind of loss. It’d be months of datamining and collecting tip information wasted! That’s not even when you consider how close we are to the mission in a few days, to get those photos of Metal Gear! So of course I went to go find you instead of— Hey, are you listening?”</p><p>He’d truly been tapping into it, though—sort of. Otacon probably wouldn’t believe him anyhow. </p><p>“Mmm, yeah—“</p><p>A loud, defeated sigh came from him (one that made his voice crack), and his face sank into his hands. The handles of the plastic 7-Eleven bags still hung from his fingers, though. </p><p>Snake quickly went to pat his back a few times. “Really!” he started, clearing his throat and trying to sound as convincing as possible, “You were saying how the power cutting out could endanger valuable intel.” </p><p>His blue eyes peeked out from between his fingers. When his hands dropped away, he pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose before saying, “...I’m satisfied with that. But you should’ve stopped me while I was ahead.” His shoulders relaxed lazily, almost like he was exasperated. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t apologize.” Snake pulled him into his warmth, feeling the dampness of his clothes against him. He was still shivering a bit from being so wet. “You sounded on-edge. Figured I’d let you vent it all out.”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s alright now,” Otacon assured, squeezing him between his arms. “I think the weather’s just making me a little frazzled. I’ll be fine by the time our mission rolls around, though, I promise.” </p><p>“Wouldn’t expect any less of you.” Snake stared out the floor-length windows into the abyss, watching as water droplets violently pelted the glass. It was starting to get even louder and darker out there. </p><p>Arms slid underneath Otacon’s jacket, falling into place around his slim waist. His wrists hung together at the curve of his back, touching each other. Those were the hands that slowly crept downward toward his ass, while Otacon stayed preoccupied with nuzzling his chest and breathing in his scent. </p><p>Then... Snake’s fingers sank into the softness of his butt, one hand for each cheek. He caressed him with a needy gentleness that was reserved for him alone—a side of himself that no one else saw. And just as quickly as that happened, they also slid down into the back pockets of Otacon’s jeans. </p><p>“D-D-Dave!” It came out as a sharp squeak, and Snake loved hearing his name in that tone. “W-What— N-Not in a place like this!” It was natural that Otacon only registered the brief groping, looking up at him with a red face before realizing his hands were still lingering. Digging deeper and feeling around. The bashful look passed into an expression of furrowed brows. “W-Wait a minute, you’re pickpocketing me, aren’t you?!”</p><p>“I forgot my wallet,” he said nonchalantly. “You got change?” He was still digging around, finding only some crumpled receipts, but not the leather wallet nor the coins he’d been searching for. </p><p>“An admirable attempt, but I keep everything important in my jacket.”</p><p>A smirk passed on Snake’s lips. <i>Shouldn’t have admitted that</i>. Both of his hands recoiled and jabbed at the pockets, as if frisking him. </p><p>“—Zipped up, of course.” He was right; they were sealed, not even budging. “Do you know how easy it’d be to mug me otherwise?”</p><p>Snake pulled away from the embrace completely, instead crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Maybe you’re more street smart than I thought.”</p><p>“It’s just common sense,” Otacon replied simply, going through his wallet for some quarters. Despite trying to sound cool and look composed, there was still a twinge of pink on his cheeks. </p><p>But Snake came up behind him, a hovering presence, casting a shadow over the other’s hunched form—and Otacon fumbled. Snake slipped his hand by and snatched the wallet out of his grip, opening the change pocket. </p><p>Meanwhile, Otacon straightened up, as if to make up for acting so mousy, and sauntered over to the long bench. He dropped the three plastic bags on top of it, and practically collapsed into the seat. </p><p>“This is the first time I’ve been outside in <i>days</i>,” mumbled Otacon wearily, to no one in particular, as he rubbed his eyes with the butts of his palms. </p><p>Snake was pushing two quarters into the machine. “I believe it.”</p><p>As per usual, the week leading up to this mission was an organized chaos at best, and a complete shitshow at worst. </p><p>It was like last minute crunch time, and Otacon would be continually screening info, making sure everything was up to date. He’d spend those few precious days making sure all the plans were in order, every procedure written down for the inevitable briefing on the morning of. </p><p>There was also the issue of preparing equipment, the sneaking suit, and weapons. Filing through new tips; testing Codec connections to and from his laptop; sifting through the various firewalls; encrypting data and getting past encryptions; prepping nanomachines...and a whole host of other things that Otacon had explained but Snake didn’t fully understand. </p><p>When he really thought about it, he hadn’t seen much of Otacon the past few days; maybe that’s why his appearance was sort of jarring at first. Snake would get up early to go run, and with the mission close he’d added in more sets of exercises after that. Also the norm. For most of this time, Otacon would set up shop in their bedroom to work, and Snake would often pass him a bowl of hot oatmeal during mealtimes just so he didn’t accidentally die of starvation. </p><p>They’d see each other passing by, occasionally. But Snake spent a good chunk of his time after exercising, reviewing maps of the facility, and polishing his guns. And maybe with some channel surfing thrown into the background for good measure. </p><p>And when it was night, Otacon would move to the living room where the router had a better connection, and Snake would attempt to fall asleep in bed. Usually, it was after several hours of insomnia kicking in and when he’d finished three cigarettes. At least the nightmares were becoming less frequent, though. </p><p>The last night was saved for actually getting 10+ hours of sleep. It’d be a death sentence to not get proper sleep on the eve of the excursion. </p><p>There was a lot more stress during these final days than the in-between ones where they’d sleep together, stay up late watching movies, or just casually mess around in bed. Where they would have no shortage of long conversations and physical touch. And always, they had a yearning for those relaxed moments whenever things got to a boiling point.  </p><p>But you couldn’t have good times without the bad ones, too. </p><p>This had always been their rhythm. </p><p>The dryer was now started, heating up as the load inside began to move around; nothing like the simplicity of coin laundry. At least <i>something</i> was finally going right tonight. </p><p>Turning around, Snake tossed the wallet back to Otacon—who fumbled around with it for a good few seconds before actually catching it in between his hands. The clumsiness was cute, because it was something he’d never do on the job. </p><p>Snake sat down on the other side of the plastic bags, sneaking another glance outside. The thin trees planted in the sidewalk were being viciously blown in one direction. If this were a rural area, he’d expect nothing less than a tornado. </p><p>He turned back away, twiddling his thumbs, only the sounds of the rattling dryer and contemporary jazz playing through the ceiling speakers filling the silence. </p><p>Snake, without tilting his head or adjusting his posture, reached into the 7-Eleven bag next to him and fumbled around. </p><p>When his arm pulled back out, it was holding a small box. He popped it open and took out a cig, without looking—using muscle memory alone.</p><p>Otacon was still distracted by the spinning of the dryer at this point, eyes swirling around as the clothes tumbled, looking like he was dozing off. Snake took advantage of the momentary lapse in conversation and brought out the lighter in his pocket before Otacon could comment about how he ought to wean off the smoking. </p><p>He heated up the end of it, the butt held between nimble fingers. The loudness of the dryer had apparently masked the sound of the lighter clicking, but one glance at Otacon and Snake saw his nose twitching.</p><p>On cue, there was a cute, squeamish little gasp from Otacon. “Wh-Wha— You can’t just smoke in here!”</p><p>“Why not? You spot any smoke detectors?” He didn’t even bother to look up and do a sweep of the ceiling. The cig was raised to his lips, and he took a long drag. </p><p>“<i>Yes</i>, but do I think they’re up-to-code and working in a place like this? Unlikely.”</p><p>“Don’t be a hardass about it, then.”</p><p>“May I remind you that there are still security cameras?”</p><p>“If you think the smoke detectors are shot, why would the CCTV be in any better shape?” </p><p>“Oh, Dave...” </p><p>The way he said it was so...fond. A little exasperated, but fond nonetheless. Of course it was only natural that Snake half-smiled at it, letting out a low chuckle. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Otacon doing the same—grinning sweetly while shamelessly staring at him, as if he wouldn’t notice. </p><p>“—Why did you come here, anyway?” he blurted suddenly, while still looking at Snake pointedly. “We have a washer <i>and</i> a dryer at our place, and they were working pretty well the last time I used them.” So it was <i>his</i> turn for an interrogation, it seemed. But he most likely didn’t mean it that way; just trying to make idle conversation. </p><p>The question made him fumble with his cigarette a bit, catching him off-guard. The recovery was quick, though. “Hnngh, y’see...” He only met Otacon’s gaze for a moment before returning it to the checkered-tile floor. What a blow to his pride to admit it: “The dryer’s sort of...broken.”</p><p>Too embarrassed to even say ‘I broke it’ and claim responsibility. Too prideful. He felt his face get hot at the thought, and that alone made him wince out of Otacon’s sight. But really, was it in that good a condition anyway?</p><p>He brought the cigarette back to his lips, puffing some smoke out and then resting at the corner of his mouth. </p><p>“<i>Oh</i>.” Otacon’s response was simple; just one word, but filled with clarity. Curiously, Snake looked back toward him. He had one leg angled atop the bench, knee hugged close to his chest. “I’ll have to take a look at it tomorrow, then.”</p><p>He opened his mouth again, probably to ask about what kind of problems Snake had been having with the dryer, when there was a clap of thunder, and a bright crackle of lightning that lit up the entire room. </p><p>Snake hadn’t noticed how dim the lighting in here was until just then. </p><p>The suddenness and loudness of it all made Otacon’s eyes briefly widen, and he yelped in the same moment. No more than a split-second later, he reached over for Snake, leaning suddenly yet awkwardly until his skinny arms clung around the other’s muscular chest. Holding him like he was his lifeline. </p><p>At first, instinct had him tensing up, almost making Snake shove him back, but he willed himself to stay frozen. Otacon had closed the small distance between them, the bags crinkling as he pressed into them. </p><p>His head laid atop Snake’s shoulder, cheek pressed against the muscle there. </p><p>Snake took his cig and gingerly put it out atop the bench-seat, letting it drop between his fingers. It rested on the wood, discarded in favor of a better addiction—</p><p>“—You’re acting more scared than my dogs do during storms.” </p><p>“I am <i>not</i>!” That response was too quick, fueled by anxiety. But Snake felt him relax a little in his arms, then say, “I-I mean, come on, it’s creepy being here all alone when it’s dark so out! I thought it was a gunshot or something!”</p><p>Snake hummed a little. “That’s a real possibility.” He was trying to lighten the mood, but the reaction could honestly go either way. </p><p>Thankfully, after a second, Otacon laughed it off, lessening his grip on Snake. “Yeah, that’s for sure...” There was something wistful about his tone, though, even despite the fact that those kinds of threats and danger would give him a panic attack otherwise. “I don’t know, it sounds silly but...I wouldn’t have any regrets even if we <i>were</i> being hunted right now. We’ve really been making a difference with Philanthropy.”</p><p>“Awfully sentimental of you, Hal.”</p><p>“I try, Dave.”</p><p>Otacon reached with one hand and grabbed the handles of the bags, gently tossing them off the side of the bench. The contents shifted, but nothing spilled over. Not like there was anything fragile or important inside, anyways—only ramen, candybars, instant coffee packets, chips, some energy drinks, and maybe a few beers and canned foods. </p><p>More space for him now, and he sat down on his bottom, leaving one hand near Snake’s clavicle while he relaxed. And then briefly yawned. </p><p>There was another flash of lightning; the thunder came much later, but Otacon only winced at it. </p><p>Only a few precious moments of quiet passed between them, Otacon linking his arm with Snake’s while messing with the strings of his hoodie. Then—</p><p>“Hey... That’s the shirt I got you, isn’t it?” He seemed a little too happy about that revelation. Otacon reached for his zipper and pulled it down, then grabbed either side of the hoodie and spread the fabric wide. “It is! It’s finally seen the light of day!” </p><p>More like the dark of night. “<i>Hallelujah</i>.” Snake rolled his eyes and quietly zipped his hoodie back up (this time all the way up to his collar), Otacon still snickering like a teenage girl. </p><p>And he went to unzip it down again, only halfway, despite Snake attempting to slap his hands away. But he’d always concede for Otacon—especially right now where he was pushed up against his side, where Snake could feel his slowing heartbeat. </p><p>Then Otacon’s palm splayed across Snake’s chest, pressing into the hard muscle there, while his other hand flitted further up, fingers brushing over the white ‘I’ on his shirt and then lingering on the cheesy red heart. </p><p>His voice was drowsy when he spoke up, “It looks good on you.” He said it more like a fact than a compliment. </p><p>“You’re bold tonight.” Snake’s voice was low and coy. “Touchy, too.”</p><p>“It just—feels good to unwind after a long few days, you know?”</p><p>“Mmm... You’ve been working hard lately.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, mission prep and all...” Scratching the back of his head sheepishly, Otacon looked away toward the shaking dryer again. “Leave no stone unturned.”</p><p>There was a snort from Snake. “Which means you should be resting up.” He placed his hand on Otacon’s, brushing his knuckles. And he swore he felt his pulse increase. </p><p>“That’s what gross amounts of coffee are for.”</p><p>“Not the point,” grumbled Snake curtly, and he, too, began to watch the clothes tumble.  “You get pretty scatterbrained when you’re sleep deprived, Hal. I would know.”</p><p>“Not <i>all</i> the time.” Snake couldn’t see, but he knew he was rolling his eyes. “Besides, a good sleep can wait for the last night.”</p><p>“Don’t go frying that big brain of yours right before a life-or-death infiltration.”</p><p>“Me? Never!” But still, despite all his protests, he seemed to be cozying up next to him pretty vehemently... He yawned again. “Never...”</p><p>“<i>Very</i> convincing.”</p><p>“I’m...fine.” Definitely not. No one could pull two all-nighters in a row and still be ‘<i>fine</i>.’ Not even him, with all the stress currently. </p><p>“Hal.”</p><p>“<i>Dave</i>.”</p><p>But it elicited a chuckle of Snake nonetheless, at the same time he shook his head. “You’re a bad liar.”</p><p>“Mmmph...” By now, Otacon was lazily nudging his chest more, holding onto Snake even tighter. His eyes were definitely glazed by now. </p><p>All that walking around must’ve made him sleepier than he would’ve been otherwise. Snake knew he wasn’t a stranger to staying up til ungodly hours, but the exertion was most certainly the reason why he couldn’t seem to handle it now. </p><p>A few more mumbles came out of Otacon while he adjusted himself, probably half-asleep already. His round glasses poked into Snake’s chest, but stayed firmly on his face. </p><p>Snake took his free hand and petted the other’s curly hair, whispering, “Hey, Hal.” Testing to see if he’d get any kind of response. </p><p>After a few moments, there was one: A soft snore that puffed through Otacon’s lips, followed by a symphony of quiet, rhythmic breathing. Then some more snoring. </p><p>With no one to see it, Snake grinned from ear to ear. </p><p>For now, he was content with sitting here, waiting for the ‘ding’ to signal that the clothes were all dried, and with Otacon sleeping soundly against his chest. </p><p>Maybe that broken dryer had been a blessing in disguise, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading (if you got this far, ily) ♡</p><p>edit: thanks to my friend amelia for making artwork of the last scene! again, that's linked <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/de0e44c1445d7390bd2f454837a4217d/6ebe52c10f174f11-12/s1280x1920/e4f5b13d9ea6d297105441cbf96290d70750b169.png">here</a>! </p><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/togeklssu">TWITTER</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://ko-fi.com/mochacreams">KOFI</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>